Two by Two(35)

     



 

"When you've been injured on the job and need help with your medical  bills, you don't want a lawyer who's new on the job. You want a lawyer  with experience. You want someone who's won millions of dollars for his  clients. You want Joey Taglieri."

When I finished, Joey began to grin. "I like it."

I nodded without responding. I'd learned over the years that saying  nothing was often the best thing I could do when it came to a client who  was considering pulling the trigger.

No doubt, Joey knew that, too, because he leaned back in his chair  again. "You should know that I've checked into your background," he  said. "After you talked me into this meeting, I called your old boss."

I felt my chest constrict. "Oh," I said.

"He was vague, as bosses always are, but he said that you went out on  your own a couple of months ago. You told me you had your own firm, but  you didn't mention that you just started it."

I felt my mouth go dry "My firm might be new, but I've been in advertising for thirteen years."

"He also suggested to me that instead of talking to him, it would  probably be better if I called to get recommendations or opinions from  your current clients."

"Oh," I said again.

"Do you think I could do that? Contact some of your other clients?"

"Uh …  Well … "

"That's what I thought you might say. If I were to guess, my suspicion  is that you don't have any other clients as of yet. So after I spoke to  your boss, I drove by your office this weekend. Turns out I recognized  the place. A former client of mine owns the place. It's not exactly the  kind of office that inspires confidence."

I forced myself to keep my voice steady. "For the most part, I meet  clients at their place of business. And if you want to talk to previous  clients, I can probably get you some names. I've worked with dozens of  clients in the Charlotte area."

"I know that, too," he said, raising his hand. "I called a few of them  already. Three of them, to be exact. They're still with Peters and they  weren't thrilled at the idea of talking to me until I told them I had no  intention of telling Peters anything about it."

"How did you … ?"

When I trailed off, he finished the question for me. "Know who to  contact? You're good at your job and I'm good at mine. But anyway, each  of them said you were terrific. Very creative, very hardworking, and  very good at what you do."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to know that while I'm not thrilled with the idea of  being your first, and only, client, I've been trying to convince myself  that it probably means you'll have more time to work on my campaign.  Frankly, I'm not sure I've gotten there yet. But after seeing what  you've done, I'll admit that I'm impressed with the thought process you  put into all this."

He stopped there and I took a deep breath.

"What exactly are you saying?"





With my head spinning after the meeting with Taglieri, I drove to  Emily's house. Had it not been for the navigation system on my phone, I  never would have been able to find it. Though not far from my home, I'd  never detoured through that particular neighborhood, and the main access  road wasn't particularly well marked. The lots were heavily wooded and  the homes were midcentury modern, with large windows, cedar plank  siding, and main levels that rose and fell with the topography.

After pulling up the drive, I followed a curving walkway that passed  over a koi pond and led to the front door. When Emily opened the door, I  was struck again by the warmth of her smile.

"I didn't expect you so soon," she said. "For some reason, I thought your presentation would take longer. Come on in."

If the argument with Vivian made it hard to concentrate and the meeting  with Taglieri left my head spinning, then stepping into the home of a  recently divorced woman with whom I'd shared a bed made the day seem  even more surreal. It felt wrong somehow, inappropriate, and I reminded  myself that I'd simply come by to get my daughter. It was no different  than picking her up from my mom's, but even so, the feeling that I was  doing something illicit only intensified as Emily motioned toward the  stairs.

"The kids are up in the playroom with Noodle. They finished lunch about  half an hour ago so they haven't been up there that long."

I nodded, making sure to maintain distance between us. "Did they have a good time?"

"They've had a great time," she said. "They've been laughing a lot. I think your daughter is in love with the dog."         

     



 

"That doesn't shock me in the slightest," I said. "How did Noodle do with the hamsters?"

"He sniffed the cage for a few seconds and that was about it."

"Good." I put my hands in my pockets, the voice inside my head  continuing to whisper that I shouldn't be here, that my presence in  Emily's home was inappropriate. Turning away from Emily, I surveyed the  room. With an open floor plan and shaded sunlight streaming through  large windows along the rear of the house, it was comfortable and  eclectic, with odds and ends scattered throughout the room, the home of  an artist. On the walls, I spotted a handful of large paintings that I  assumed she'd done.

"You have a beautiful home," I said, trying to keep the conversation innocuous.

"Thank you," she said, sounding far more at ease than I was feeling.  "I've actually been thinking about selling the place. There's too much  maintenance, and a couple of the rooms are in serious need of  renovation. Of course, I've been saying that ever since David moved out.  I'm sorry it's such a mess."

"I didn't notice," I said. "Are those some of your paintings?"

She moved closer to me, not too close, but close enough that I was able  to catch a whiff of the honeysuckle shampoo she used. "Some of my older  work. I've been wanting to trade a few of them out for some more recent  paintings, but that's been on the back burner, too."

"I can understand why the gallery owner loves your work."

"They remind me of when I was pregnant with Bodhi. They're darker and  less textured than a lot of what I do now. Moodier, too. Of course, I  was sick as a dog for months when I was pregnant, so maybe that has  something to do with it. Hold on a second." She walked toward the  staircase. "Bodhi? London?" she called out. "Are you still okay?"

In chorus, I heard their answer. "Yes!"

"Your dad's here, London."

Footsteps pounded overhead and I caught sight of my daughter peeking  through the railings. "Daddy? Can I stay longer? Bodhi has an extra  light saber and it's red! And we're playing with Noodle!"

I looked toward Emily. "It's fine with me," she said with a shrug.  "She's keeping Bodhi busy and happy, which makes my life easy."

"Maybe a few more minutes," I called up. "But we can't stay long. Remember that you have dance tonight."

"With Ms. Hamshaw?" Emily asked. When I nodded, Emily went on. "I've  heard some pretty interesting things about her. And by ‘interesting,' I  mean not particularly good."

"I'm not sure London enjoys it all that much," I admitted.

"So pull her out."

With Vivian, such things aren't always that easy, I thought to myself.  In the silence, Emily hooked a thumb toward the kitchen. "Would you like  some sweet tea while you wait? I just made a pitcher."

I heard the voice in my head again, this time telling me to politely decline, but instead, I found myself saying, "Sounds good."

I followed her toward the breakfast table in the kitchen; the hamster  cage was on the floor in front of French doors that led to the backyard.  Off to the side, I saw another room, obviously her studio. There were  paintings stacked along the walls and another on an easel; there was an  apron draped over the battered desk, along with hundreds of containers  of paint.

"This is where you work?"

"My studio," she said, pulling out the pitcher of tea. "It used to be a  screened porch, but we glassed it in when we bought the house. It's got  perfect light in the morning."

"Is it hard to work at home?"

"Not really. But I've always painted at home so I don't know any different."

"How does that work with Bodhi?"

She poured the tea into the glasses, added ice to both, and brought them  to the table. "I work in the mornings before we really get going for  the day, but even after that, it's not too bad. If I get the urge to  paint, he'll head upstairs and play or watch TV. He's gotten used to it.  "

She took a seat and I followed her lead, still feeling far too self-conscious. If Emily felt the same, she didn't show it.

"How did it go with Taglieri?"

"It went well," I said. "He hired me. For the entire campaign I proposed."

"That's great!" she cried. "Congratulations! I knew you'd nail it. You've got to be thrilled."